Freedom
by PiressVox
Summary: When a man knows he is minutes from his death, what does he feel? What does one think when facing the hangman's noose? Rated for safety


**Author's note: **Please be nice to me, I'm only 14. Doing Yr 8 English. This was written while listening to Passacaglia by Secret Garden. Also cross-posted on Parley, the ultimate site for Rumrunners.

**Disclaimer: **As much as I would love to claim I wrote Pirates, I can't. Disney owns it all. Pirates mucho profit. Me broke Therefore, MeNot-Owner-Of-Pirates

**Freedom**

It was just after the church bell truck the ninth hour that they came to take him from his filthy, hay-strewn cell. Soldiers in their blood-red coats- ironic, really- wrinkled their noses against the smell of the prison. Strange, he thought, that they should hate this place so much, yet still lock other human beings up in here with a song in their hearts

But, in their eyes, he was less than human. He was a pirate. They were different breeds entirely.

Course rope bound his hands in front of him, and unkind hands dragged him up the stairs and through the doors to the fort.

Sunlight. Fresh air. Slaty sea breeze. The warmth of the sun flooded through his body, thawing his blood, frozen from the icy cold of the prison. Locked in that dark, windowless, pathetic excuse for a cell, he had been dying. He was a man of the sea- he needed it to survive. Without it, he had wasted away, a mere shadow of his former self. Finally smelling the salt on the air again brought him back to life. He was so close to the clear blue waters and clearer blue skies, but so terribly far away.

Again, the irony hit home- just as he was woken to life again, he was going to die

He could hear soldiers marching to their positions in Fort Charles. His captors forced him forward, looks of hatred and disgust on their faces

Why did they hate him? Just because he saw things differently then they did. He wasn't like other pirates- he never killed without need, never stole more than he needed to support himself, his crew and his ship. To him, life was too precious to waste conforming to society's ridiculous rules and expectations. He lived the way he wanted to live, and now he was going to die for choosing his own path.

He had always known it might come to this- occupational hazard, he called it. There was always a risk of capture, floating in the darkness at the back of his mind, just beyond thought, but always there. He supposed that in choosing this life, ha had chosen this fate as well. It was too late to undo it.

And even if he could, he wouldn't.

The long march to the gallows began. He led his own death procession, hands still bound, soldiers behind him, hiding behind their guns.

Cowards.

Most navy men wouldn't have dared come near him had his hands been free. Even bound, they didn't want to escort him to his death without their weapons.

Didn't they realise he wasn't going to run?

Crowds of people had turned up to see him hang. He always had been able to attract hordes of onlookers, to anything- even when he didn't mean to. It seemed they found him fascinating. He hadn't always been that way. But now, with his slurred accent, confident swagger and hands that weren't quite within his control, he found that people stared.

He hadn't really considered his appearance up until this moment. Now that he thought about it, everything from his boots to his hair screamed "I'm a pirate! Arrest me!" He was much more tanned than anyone present, his hair was darker, his eyes more bright. He jingled as he walked, trinkets and beads strung through the dreads and braids. But strangely he felt…exposed. His pistol and sword had been seized. His coat was still on _The Pearl_, with his old crew…

Ah. He knew what it was.

He wanted his hat

But that was on _The Pearl_, too

A strange thing. He was being marched to his death, but it didn't really bother him. He had won the _Pearl _back, even if he would never captain his beloved ship again

A sob broke the silence around them. Searching for its source, his eyes fell on a young lady near the edge of the crowd.

She was crying

Crying for him

She didn't know him. He'd never seen her before this moment

Yet she wept

He broke away from the procession, tripping toward the crying woman.. Within seconds, he was hauled back to his feet and pushed on. The guards did not notice the void on his hand where a ring used to sit. Nor did they notice the young woman pick up a gold band set with a ruby from where the prisoner had dropped dit at her feet.

Others, though, did notice. They knew

While many stared at him with smiles on their faces, happy he was finally caught and soon to die, some women threw flowers onto the cobblestones as he passed. Men bowed their heads. Children stared in awe.

This was not just the death of a pirate. It was the death of a legend.

He was the pirate everyone knew of, the one everyone secretly admired, the one some people wished they had the courage to be. They expected him to put up a fight, to try to escape, at least spit at the soldiers.

They would get no such show.

He had never sought to rebel against authority. He had merely wanted an escape. Piracy had offered that. Piracy had unlocked the cage of society. Piracy had set him free form that which he hated and feared the most- a life imprisoned. He dreaded being trapped, unable to move, unable to breathe. The mere thought of life without the freedom of the sea literally terrified him.

Just as a caged bird longs for the skies, he was a caged man longing for the sea. But he would never again sail the deep blue waters he so loved

He was marched up the stairs to the gallows, positioned in front of the noose and left to his thoughts. Drums were beating somewhere, but he hardly noticed it. It was his own execution and people still seemed determined to ignore him and pretend he didn't really exist. A herald began reading his death warrant

Inside, he was glad he'd never ended up like this man- a pawn of a corrupt government, droning on in monotone, hated by some and pitied by the rest, his voice enough to bore holes through solid rock

No, he'd been his own man. Lived his own life. Even if said life was shorter than he would have hoped, it had been a happy one

No regrets

He watched the herald as he recited his considerably long list of crimes. He couldn't hate this man. He was just doing his job- even if he was the most boring individual the pirate had ever encountered.

Looking across the assembly gathered to witness the end of his life, a flash of gold brocade caught his eye

Ah, the dear Commodore. James Norrington. The reason many of his friends were dead. The reason piracy was dying out. That man was the reason he stood here now, facing the hangman's noose, minutes from death

But he couldn't hate that man either. He, too, was just doing his job. He wasn't in charge of the law: he was bound by it. Bound by duty, his sense of honour. In truth, the pirate admired the Commodore for it, perhaps because it was something he wished he had more of himself. James Norrington was a good man- if there was anything the pirate admired, it was a good man

It wasn't Norrington's fault he stood here now. It was his own. He'd been breaking the law most of his life, and finally, he'd been caught

If it hadn't been Norrington, it would have been someone else.

No, he couldn't blame him.

"Impersonating a cleric of the Church of England…"

The pirate disguised his laugh with a cough. Oh, those were the days. Good times. He was glad a full list was being read aloud, for everyone to hear. He would go down gloriously.

And there she was. Glowing. Gorgeous. Glorious. Absolutely perfect and completely untouchable.

Elizabeth Swann, daughter of the King's Governor of Port Royal. Young, beautiful and betrothed to the aforementioned Commodore.

She stood under a stone arch with her father and her fiancé. Her dress, white and gold, was stunning, but compared to her…it was like dressing an angel in beggar's rags. Cinnamon-blonde curls, perfectly coifed, were pinned atop her head, a single golden coil hanging down to tickle her neck. Pearls hung around her neck, a bonnet held to her head with ribbon, a fan in her grasp. She was trying desperately to keep herself cool. The corset she had been strung into again was obviously causing her pain, but she looked unbelievable.

He thought fondly of the first time he'd met her. He'd had to cut of that corset to save her life. He had considered it a bit forward, even for him. He always knew a lady's name before he took her clothes off.

He'd know from the defiant look in her eyes that moment that she wasn't a typical high-class lady. He could have easily killed her during hid escape from the docks, but she seemed more angry than scared at being threatened.

It turned out a childhood fascination with pirates meant she knew full well who he was. She'd survived several days as a captive of the most evil pirate in the Caribbean. She'd fought bravely in an intense sea-battle. She'd spent the night on a desert island with _him_, of all people, and, in one of the sneakiest, cleverest tricks he'd ever witnessed, she'd burnt huis entire secret stash of alcohol in an attempt to summon the Royal Navy to rescue her from said desert island.

If that hadn't earned her his respect, she'd then gone and sacrificed any hope she had of happiness with her true love to save the lad's life, sealing her future as a Commodore's wife- a love that she could never truly return.

Another thing the pirate admired, even if he had only felt it once, long ago- love. She'd proven she'd rather have her beloved alive and not be able to touch him, than dead and _still_ not able to touch him.

Yes, Elizabeth Swann was one of a kind.

And the look of powerlessness in her eyes told him she'd rather be anywhere than here, watching her friend die

He counted himself lucky to have Elizabeth among his friends.

And what was this? Someone was talking to the high-and-mighty beings under the archway. The Commodore and the Governor merely nodded at the man, but young Miss Elizabeth was watching him intently, listening. A light grew in her eyes, a shocked but happy expression on her face…

Ah. Dear young William

And, if he guessed correctly, he'd just told his darling Lizzie that he loved her.

Finally.

A jaunty feathered hat and long flowing cape came into view as William moved from the arch into the crowd. Melted-butter tan, long brown locks and deep dark eyes- yep, definitely William. The spitting image of his father.

"_If you ever find him- my son- tell him I was a good man. That I never meant to hurt him, or his mother. Look after him. Please, captain"_

He had promised Bill Turner, over 10 years ago, to watch out for Will if he ever found him. His friend was being killed for standing up for him- it was the least he could do.

He'd upheld his oath as best he could. He'd taught Will the ways of piracy, he'd old the boy about his father. He'd given Will the courage- quite possibly the recklessness- to accept the sea-longing that lay deeply buried inside his soul. He'd helped him come to terms with the pirate in his blood.

In the week or so he'd spent with William Turner, he'd come to see the lad as a mate- no, a weird mix of son and brother. He was a good kid- smart, real smart. Good with his hands, a brilliant swordsman and sailor, fiercely loyal and loving, protective of those he held dear.

But for the love of Mother and Child, he could be stupid.

The pirate had to reconsidered his view- he did have one regret. He was sorry he wouldn't be alive to see what happened to William Turner and Elizabeth Swann. Would he have the guts to ask her to leave James? If he did, would Elizabeth give into her heart's desire and run away with her beloved, or would her honour make her keep her promise to the Commodore? If they left, he liked to think they would heed the call of the sea. He wanted them to become the pirates within their souls, the pirates that lay hidden just beneath their proper, civilised exteriors.

He wished he could live to hear great stories told of Will and Liz Turner, the last real pirate threats in the Caribbean

Again, ironic. He4 had once considered himself and his ship to be the last re4al pirate threat in the Caribbean.

Some threat he'd turned out to be. Instead of going down fighting, liked he'd always dreamed, he was to hung, powerless, in front of crowds of people, his corpse strung up as a warning to any others that followed in his footsteps.

So ends the legend of his life.

The drum roll started. The hangman slid the noose around his neck.

"May God have mercy on your soul"

He had never been a religious man, but last night, he'd spent hours making his peace with the powers-that-be. Now, despite knowing there were minutes, if not seconds left of his life, he wasn't…

He wasn't afraid. Wasn't nervous or stressed or frightened of death. No. He accepted it. He felt…calm. Content. At peace. Ready for it all to end.

He'd lived his life the way he'd wanted. He could do no more than that. If this was how it was to end, so be it.

There was some commotion going on in the crowd. A feathered hat was moving, voices yelling, the Commodore calling his marines- William doing something stupid again, undoubtedly.

Under the stone arch, Elizabeth suddenly collapsed. The pirate sighed. He couldn't help her now. But at least they knew what to do- cut the damn corset off. Maybe someone would have the sense to burn it so she'd never suffer in it again

In the distance the doomed man saw a bird fly across the sapphire sky toward the blazing sun, away from the fort, the prison,. The noose- away from it all

Jack Sparrow smiled

The trapdoor opened

He fell

Soon, he would be that bird.

Free.

Forever.

OK, now that that's over- you see the little purple-ish box? Click on it. Leave reviews. Flames are all used to roast marshmallows. Cheers!


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